


Strange, Familiar

by Smith



Series: Everything In My Power [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Family, Mages and Templars, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smith/pseuds/Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Trevelyan suffers familiar nightmares she thought were behind her, and leaves her quarters for a late night walk to escape them, but the Inquisitor is never alone for long in Skyhold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange, Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> An update to my fill for [this prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=51905653#t51905653).
> 
> This instalment took me far too long to write, but I finally snagged that spark of inspiration that helped me finish it last weekend, so I can finally add to Caswyn's story. This is far from the ending, of course, but do forgive me in advance for a tardy continuation as November approaches.

The strange-familiar halls and stairways of the circle stretch out in front of her, endless, and somewhere she can hear a baby crying, and it jars her, galls her, to realise this is _her_ baby. Reality almost catches as she remembers his birth, between the wet folds of his small, warm body, the smell of afterbirth and something new, she _knows_ she never heard him cry, but that sharpness fades again as he wails, closer now.

Caswyn walks forward, and the world begins to change, the walls elongate, punctured by open doorways at even intervals, each as dark and empty as the last. The wind assaults her, its cold fingers nudging aside her cloak and brushing across her skin, carrying with it a scent she couldn't name, one she held in her heart.

But every turn she makes sends the screams whirling around her, and then they're coming from a different direction, and she tails it in vain. Sometimes it sounds like its only a room away, but when she gets there, he's always gone, and as she dances this endless dance, she imagines him, because she has almost forgotten his dark eyes, the wisps of his damp hair.

With a jerk, she wakes up, and as she claws half-awake at the soft sheets, the sheer size of the room catches her off-guard. Shivering, she sits up, and drops her legs off the side of the bed, stumbling to her feet. For half a mad second, she considers hiding in the closet, but she can't stomach the thought of the servants finding her in the morning curled up in there.

Instead, she pulls on a robe over her nightclothes, wraps her favourite scarf around her neck, and pads down the stairs in her slippers. It has been years since she has had those dreams, but now they haunt her every night, since the breach, the mark, the Inquisition...

Skyhold is positively cavernous after midnight, she notes, as she descends into the main hall. She nods to the guard who stands beside the door to her stairway, tells him to stay where he is.

The gardens, and Andraste's shrine, call to her as the expected port of comfort, but she realises at the door that she can't stomach the sight, and turns to head outside instead.

A few stragglers outside the tavern recognise her, and offer drunken greetings, but she passes by with only a nod and finds herself wandering the battlements alongside patrolling guards. Eventually, she finds a place where she can be alone, and she leans on the parapet with a beautiful view of the mountains bathed in moonlight.

"A boy with a hole in his heart that matches yours."

She jumps, and turning, finds Cole standing against the wall behind her.

"Small, so small, and helpless, but they helped themselves, didn't they?"

"They did," Caswyn murmurs. "Can you feel him, through me?"

"I feel what you feel for him," Cole says, hopping up onto the balustrade and folding his legs under him. "Before he flowered, just a bud, you wanted to wilt him, because you saw how it ends. Arms with no babes, milk leaking through robes, cold cabbage leaves, and tears that never end, but no one understands, so they fight it down, dry eyes, and self-destruct slowly."

Caswyn's jaw trembles as she fights the urge to clench it. "Cole, I..."

"But he stoked the fires of hope and you let yourself go, floating but still anchored, until they took him away, took them both away."

The door beside them creaks open, and Caswyn jumps. In the shadows of the tower, Commander Cullen has just slipped through the door.

"Ah, Inquisitor," the Commander wavers, and steps back, his hand returning to the door handle. "I didn't realise..."

"Oh, it's alright," she says as she manages a smile, "I was just taking a walk, and Cole decided to..." As she turns back to the spot where the spirit was sitting, she finds it empty. "Perform a vanishing act, apparently."

Cullen's mouth twitches upward at its scarred corner, and he exhales softly. "Yes, he does do that." The expression falls as he glances at the parapet and then behind him. "I should leave you to your peace and quiet."

Trevelyan smiles warmly back, and glances at the dark space behind him. "Don't leave on my account, Commander." Her elbows slowly sink back down to rest against the chilled stone, and she gazes out at the mountains. "Company would not be the worst thing in the world."

"Then I shall not dream of leaving," Cullen replies, and a moment later he settles beside her. He sighs, and she almost catches the scent of his breath, warm and honeyed, perhaps a remedy to help him sleep.

"It's an enchanting sight, is it not? I still can't believe it, most days."

"Mm," she agrees with a slow nod. "Is it often that my Commander spends his time enjoying the view instead of sleeping?"

"More often than I'd like to admit," he says, and they share a glance, but it lingers.

Caswyn averts her eyes, feeling her cheeks warm as she curls her cold hands together. "I suppose a good night's rest is a bit beyond us all right now."

"Unfortunately, it's beyond me most of the time, but I've noticed you've walked the ramparts at this hour a few... I mean, uh," Cullen stalls, and when she looks at him, he turns his head away and rubs the back of his neck. "I don't mean to pry."

"It's alright," Caswyn says, "I can stand a little prying. It's... warm that you cared to notice."

"You must have a lot on your mind, becoming Inquisitor..."

"An understatement, perhaps," she replies with a smirk. "I hope I won't let you down."

"I have faith in you," Cullen says, "First time I've had faith in anyone."

Caswyn cocks her head as she stares at the Commander, but she can't decide what to say, if anything.

Cullen shifts his weight to the other hip and clears his throat, gazing up at the stars. He sighs softly, and Caswyn watches the puff of steam dissipate into the night.

"Your family must be very proud of you," he says after a few moments.

"Hardly." Caswyn bites her lip.

Cullen looks at her again, his lips parted slightly and a wrinkle in his brow.

"My family and I haven't been on good terms for quite some time," she explains, "I haven't shared a single word with my mother and father since I left for the Circle at thirteen."

"Oh, I see." Cullen swallows. "What about your siblings? Do you have siblings?"

"Three." She smiles and rubs her cold, dry hands together. "Two brothers and a sister."

"Would you tell me about them?"

Caswyn snorts. "If you insist. Everett, the eldest, is a templar. Well, _was_ a templar, I should say. He wasn't at the Conclave, he... disappeared. Something happened, I don't know what, and he disappeared. None of my family have seen him in a long time, last I heard."

"Oh, that must be... I'm sorry."

"I didn't know him that well," she reasons with a shrug, "He's eight years older than me, and left home when I was still quite young. But I do hope he's safe, wherever he is. My older sister, on the other hand..."

"Not so much?" He chuckles.

"We never got along. My aunt married some lesser Orlesian noble, and Lidane got it into her head that she wanted to be a Chevalier. I guess that's what she ran off to do, but who knows how it worked out."

"Nobles," Cullen says idly, "You're all so incestuous, even across borders."

"True," Caswyn agrees.

"And your other brother?"

"Llewellyn," she says, her smile growing rigid and falling away. "My baby brother. We were very close growing up, and he was the only one who cared when I was sent to the Circle; he cried and told me he'd miss me." She sniffs in the cold air, and pulls her robe tighter around herself. "The only one."

Cullen shifts awkwardly beside her, but doesn't say anything.

"The templars let me receive his letters, most of the time, but they always raided the care packages. I appreciated his gifts, or... what was left of them." Caswyn curls her fingers into the worn woollen scarf around her neck, pulling it up over her nose and taking a deep breath through the weave. "This was from him. I never left it behind."

The scarred side of Cullen's lip lifts again in a lopsided smile. She wonders if he ever withheld something innocuous, but precious, from a mage's letters from home.

"What happened to him?" He asks.

Caswyn looks away. Her tongue darts out over her lips. "He's dead."

"Oh," Cullen murmurs in a breath. He scowls down at his hands, she can see out of the corner of her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"During the rebellions, I found him again, working for a mercenary company near Rivain, and he came with me, promised to help protect me and my wards." Caswyn shakes her head. "He was at the Conclave."

Cullen is silent. The wind howls through trees far below them, delivering only a whisper of a rustle to their ears. Nothing needs to be said. They breathe, they listen.

Caswyn swallows. "Is your family proud of _you_?"

"I would say they are," Cullen says, but there's a bitter sting to his voice, "But they don't..." He clears his throat, and straightens, his hands braced against the parapet. "They don't know a lot about the things that I'm not proud of, myself."

"Everyone has some of those," Caswyn replies.

"Yeah," Cullen clears his throat. "Some are worse than others."

Caswyn examines him, the rigid square of his shoulders, the tension in his arms, the aimlessness in his eyes. She wonders what he's thinking about, but she won't ask.

"I think I may return to my quarters," she says. "I hope you can get some sleep, Commander."

"You too, Inquisitor," he says with a strained smile.

Nodding, Caswyn steps away from the parapet and hesitates a moment, catching his eyes shining in the dark, before she turns away and walks back along the ramparts. She descends through the gardens, passing through the perfume of night blossoms, and straightens a chair as she travels through the main hall, but stops when she reaches the bottom of her stairwell and stares up into the rafters of her tower.

The threat of vast empty space waiting up there sends a quiver of anxiety through her stomach, and it almost makes her miss the dormitories of the Circle, the constant coughing and shuffling and muttering of her fellow mages in captivity. Almost.

Taking a breath, she grips the banisters, and takes the first step back up to her nightmares.


End file.
